Sound(s) As I See It

This is an excerpted transcript from the second episode of Are.na Radio, an audio experiment with Montez Press Radio where four people share their Are.na channels, describe what’s been collected, and reveal the threads of thought therein.

I have recently been thinking about the idea of: What does the sound say when words fall short?  

Specifically, listening in relation to faith and composing as an act of worship or prayer. This thought process was inspired by a few passages that have been circulating through my mind. 

One is David playing the harp for Saul to get rid of the tormenting spirit found in 1 Samuel 16. 

This passage reminds me of a block I saved from a documentary on how the Kora Harp is made. In the documentary, the artisan, Seydou Kane, shares how playing and making the  instrument is a deeply intricate and spiritual process. He notes:

I love how the player and maker is aware of the responsibility the instrument demands. When listening to music that uses the Kora, I am always in awe of its ability to draw out acute emotions. There is something so otherworldly about it, as though the notes mirror our own innate way of making music in our hearts. 

Similarly, Romans 8:26 which reads:

We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the  Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.  

This scripture speaks to times of fragility, when it feels difficult to hold onto the very thing that anchors you, or should anchor you, in moments of weakness. When prayer feels more like a burden than a relief, and articulation feels constrained. In those moments, I think sound best presents itself as an aid in connecting us to the divine. When music shines in its full glory, revealing its sacredness.  

Eloghosa Osunde’s words from a piece titled “Walk Worthy” in The Paris Review are brought to mind:

Because lyrics can be Scripture too, in that quicken-the-body way, there are songs that  remind me of my previous resurrections.

I gravitate to such writers within this channel as their works are so committed to the art of translating and wading through the depths of music. Music not just a pleasurable or entertaining activity, but music as a lifeline. These quotes remind me of the way sound facilitates itself as a mirror or sifter of sorts, allowing us to work through what language cannot bear. Send me a song and I’ll show you your heart.  

I love encountering songs that speak to that texture or tone that I can’t quite put into words. I’m even more so fascinated when the song I encounter is in a language I can’t understand, but when I look up the lyrics it describes exactly what I’m feeling. 

I have a channel connected to this one titled “Baptise me in these songs” that speaks to this process of being wrapped or moved by a song in such a poignant way. It’s a place where I house songs that move me beyond listening and actually mark a point of change before and after I listened to them. It brings about an exchange in the act of listening. It is a baptism of sorts as those moments can feel so all consuming. 

Another consistent theme throughout this channel is this idea of sound as a structure or container that moves us between different states and times. Initially I had made this channel during the pandemic, a time when music couldn’t be shared in moments of gathering, with friends, family or strangers. The act of making very specific playlists served as a portal for me to document a past I once longed for and a future I hoped to embody. Auditory documentation became just as important as writing or collecting images.  

I think of Tice Cin’s words in her article “Meditation” reviewing Caleb Azumah’s 2021 novel Open Water. In it she writes: 

Asking about a song is asking about the moment of a swell. Can you hold that memory for me? Can we hold it together? There is no acquiescence to ephemerality when two are invested in a mutual archive.

Similarly, a piece by Mukami Kuria titled “Nakei Nairobi,” inspired by musician Mbilia Bel, notes music’s ability to not only travel, but to accompany you on the journey. They write: 

Sound travels through memory, through visions for the future and the promise of the  road.

The piece continues on to describe the role of music in post-colonial East and Central  Africa. Specifically citing records from the album Kenya Special (selected East African Recordings 1970s to 1980s) she notes how music at this time served as a conversation between the cities of Dar Es Salaam, Kinshasa, Nairobi, and Mombasa. Songs rang of longing and imagination, “journeys and departures.”  

To sing of a place, you have either been there or you imagine going there.

Where Nairobi and Kinshasa meet in music, the city embodies feeling.

The writer’s experience with Kenyan and Congolese music remind me of my own  memories of growing up in Kenya. Echoes of the songs my family played around the house are so close, so tangible, it’s as if it was yesterday. They now become a part of my present. 

Lately, this channel has evolved into a repository of quotes, articles, and other clippings that explore sound beyond an auditory experience — in relation to other senses such as sight and touch. I have also been thinking about alternative ways of listening and how that  allows us to pay more attention to the sounds showing up in everyday life. Pascal Quignard writes:

To hear is to be touched from afar.

How can sound be interpreted as a gesture? Are our conversations song?  

I have been finding a home in JJJJJerome Ellis’s music and practice recently. In an article in March Magazine about his 2021 book/album “The Clearing” Ellis interrogates the role of scores, noting: 

I was interested in blurring the border between book and album. C-c-can a  book be a performance? Can a record be a score?

Throughout the album, phone conversations and readings are woven in with hip hop-jazz fusions. Each song brings to light a different dimension of Black life and how stuttering  makes room for alternative time structures. In the article, Ellis goes on to express that he doesn’t think of his practice within confined or separate mediums, instead, he embraces the overlap between performance, music, and writing to tell an all encompassing story.  

This thought process brings to mind Tina Campt’s conversation with Jace Clayton in e-flux, “Listening and Writing to Images,” challenging us to embrace the relationship between sound and images. She writes:  

But if we do this intentionally, if we literally try to hear something that is not necessarily visualized in the image, then listening to images becomes a way of enacting the broader  experience of how images register. 

I’ve been mulling over the idea of listening to the wind as it relates to my own process of  making music. I have been finding that writing and music making aren’t too dissimilar in that they both require a certain level of surrender and listening beyond what is initially presented or easily accessible. This last song I’m going to play is from a collection of four  sounds I made recently titled “Notes on Spring.” The song is called “Closing / Listening to  the wind.”